


1983

by EDEN23



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Gen, Jealousy, Past Relationship(s), Pre-Apocalypse, Suburbia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:00:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EDEN23/pseuds/EDEN23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the 1980's. The decade where greed is good, bigger is better, and the apocalypse is on the horizon. *WARNING* Suburban tranquillity is disturbed and Quicksilver works on Wall Street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

1983

She took a sip of coffee as she looked out of her window. She ignored the drab scene of suburban tranquillity and instead looked toward the sky, watching the clouds float slowly by, the earth slowly rotating as usual. She had turned the television off, she easily tired of it. She sat down on her new leather chair, picking up her book and had read through half a page before a doorbell rang through the quiet house.  
Magda Maximoff looked up from the collection of anthropology essays and took off her large reading glasses. The record player played quietly in the corner, records that had once played far too loudly from the basement were rather comforting now. Although she still was weary of The Sex Pistols.  
She marked the paragraph she had reached and walked to the door, checking herself in the mirror before she answered. The woman that looked back at her was still recognisable thankfully. The crinkled curly hair that she had always brushed out or rolled over the past decades was finally in vogue and she wore it natural and loose down to her shoulders. She didn't see any obvious grey hairs. Yet. And her face was holding up as well as it could do. It just took a lot more maintenance and "miracle cream". She also had to remember that she was the mother of a twenty-seven year old who worked on Wall Street and a teenage daughter who was goodness-knows-where.  
The bell rang again.  
She mumbled under her voice. "I'm coming, I'm coming..."  
Opening the front door, a man stood in the doorway, cloaked in a cape. She opened her mouth to make a sound. Nothing was coming out. She looked at his face, still not quite believing it. It couldn't be. Once their eyes met, she was greeted with malice. In seconds he had barged into the house, knocking her aside. The reality of the situation had yet to sink in. She stared, open mouthed as he marched through the house. She quickly regained her senses as she went after him. Twenty-seven years and not a single word of greeting? He really did hate humanity, was she an insect to him now? Disgust spread across her face as she followed him, fists balled.

"How dare you!" She emerged into the kitchen as the caped figure spun around, wearing a look of contempt. "Leave now, or so help me..."  
His eyes, aged and hard stared her down, appearing to ignore everything she said. "Are they here?" The voice was in monotone.  
Of course. He was looking for her children. All the more reason to resist. "Get out." She replied. She didn't fear him. He was nothing compared to her children.  
He turned and tilted his head a little, like it was the answer he wanted to hear.  
"I'm not going to ask again. Where is Quicksilver?"  
She shrugged off the stupid name. "At least call him by his real name, Erik. He is your son."  
Before she could do another thing, the man they called Magneto had taken three steps towards her and in seconds had grabbed her throat and had smashed her into a wall with sudden brutal force, her head cracking the picture frame that was hung on the wall.  
"HE IS NOT MY SON! SAY IT!"  
She scraped at the gloved hands around her neck, eyes wide in terror as the face she had almost forgotten moved closer to hers, examining her closely before sneering. Like her, he had aged but he did not look fifty. She kicked as she was lifted a little and she began to see stars already, feeling faint. She removed one of his fingers a little with her hands so she could utter, "My ch-ildren..." She looked at him with hatred, "...will avenge me." She barred her teeth as she looked into her assailants eyes as she shook, feeling darkness settle over her like sleep.  
"Mystique." A voice came from somewhere as she began to lose feeling in her arms.  
Suddenly the iron grip was released from her slender throat and her body dropped to the floor with a thud as she lay, coughing and filling her lungs with air as her eyes watered. She lay on the ground gasping to look up at Magneto turning away from her, watching a familiar looking middle-aged man wearing a dark suit with reproach. It was Erik. She looked back and forth before closing her eyes, hoping that her sanity would come back. This was a dream.  
"Leave. Now, Mystique." She could hear the slightly aged voice and recognised it immediately.  
"No."  
She looked up just in time to see Magneto shed away, feathery scales revealed a blue creature transform in front of her very eyes. It stood, naked and scaly, the masculine voice had gone but the contempt had not. Its eyes made her flinch inwardly as they settled on her, bright yellow and alien. The blue creature that was apparently Mystique stood her ground. "You don't have to be here. He's not here. Neither is she."  
Magda held her throat together. Desperately finding a voice that wasn't a dry croak.  
"That is none of your concern. Leave."  
Mystique sighed in exasperated anger, asking him why. Hurt crept into her voice. She turned to Magda accusingly and looking back at Erik. "He doesn't even look like you! It's a lie!" She looked at him expectantly, as did Magda. She was curious to hear his answer. Mystique had a point, there was no other evidence other than what Magda herself knew to be true to suggest who Peter's real father was.  
Erik composed himself, looking at Mystique intently for a moment before giving in. He gritted his teeth before answering. "He has my mother's eyes."  
Realisation washed over the creature before she stormed out but stopped just at the doorway. She looked down, addressing Magda like one would a criminal. "Count yourself lucky someone came to your rescue."  
"It's you who is the lucky one." Magda looked her in the eye, keeping her nerve while she spoke hoarsely with the old spirit that she had as a younger woman. "My daughter would've burnt you alive for this."  
The blue woman walked on without a word, her smirk completely vanishing. It was clear that she had been acquainted with Wanda. The statement was no exaggeration.

Magda picked herself up off the floor as he watched, letting out a few coughs while still feeling light-headed. She was no longer the young woman she once was. She picked up her reading glasses off the floor and she was quite glad to see that he had aged over the years, maybe even more than she. She could tell he was thinking the same thing as she collected herself. She could see his discomfort. That was about as close as he'd ever get to making an apology.  
"Beautiful. But deadly." She smiled, not knowing why she was trying to make him at ease. He had done many wrong things. He had almost turned her into the monster that he was all those years ago.  
He looked at her for a second, scrutinizing her face. "We always agreed on those things, you and I."  
She decided to get to the point, realising that she had a small cut at the back of her head where it had cracked the glass of the frame. "If you're looking for him, I'd give up."  
"I have come to ask if you would try to persuade him, the brotherhood-"  
"He's told me everything. I am his mother." She folded her glasses and put them in her front pocket. Now the proud owner of a college degree in Anthropology, she had a few questions to ask about Erik's plans for a mutant utopia. But Peter was more important. "I persuaded him to get a job, live a normal life. Your vision is a half-baked one Erik. If human society's structures inevitably break down, what will mutant-kind do? Live under a dictatorship? We both know all about that, don't we?"  
She heard the tell-tale sign of cutlery rattling a little-he was getting angry as he retorted. "He is needed. It's not like it was. Something is coming, much worse than you could ever imagine. He came to us because he believed in the cause. Wanda too."  
She scoffed. "Wherever Peter goes, Wanda follows. He isn't looking for a leader."  
"Then why did he join me, Magda? Why?" A saucepan dropped to the floor as kitchen utensils trembled in a rumbling crescendo as he raised his voice.  
"Because was looking for a father!" Her voice faltered as it finally came out, eyes shining.  
Silence descended upon them, like it did all those years ago. Twenty-seven years had disappeared in a blink and suddenly it was like they were on that New York street again. Young and angry, living their lives with no rules, laughing in the face of normality. Erik was standing as the early Autumn rain spat down on them, watching her in disbelief as she shook her head and stood her ground. They had been going back to Europe, they had got what they needed in New York. They were going to hunt down the all the people who were to blame for their sadness. Together.  
But Magda had finally discovered something that changed everything. Suddenly her life was not her own. No child deserved to be born into a life that would immediately taint them. She couldn't afford to be the wretched companion of Frankenstein's monster any longer.  
She remembered the unforgiving look in his eyes. She had betrayed him. Everything that they had, any good memory was now void.  
______________________________________

Like a blue alien from a B-movie, she emerged into the sunny suburban neighbourhood. She seemed more alien than she ever had been before and relished the fact that eyes could be watching her. Good. She thought, grimacing as she walked down the crazy-paving. She should've known better than to envy the old hag. She was weak, human and of no consequence. Her mutated genes were dormant. She was a carrier who's only talent was to spawn mutant babies. Ugly ones at that.

Next thing she was on her back, looking up at the sky. Her elbows and head got the worst of the force. She lifted her head and squinted in the sun, yellow eyes glowing pale, black speckled pupils becoming small dots.  
He looked down at her with an intense hatred as she lay on the ground, smiling unapologetically. It was as if he had read her thoughts as his shadow loomed over her in the bright sun. He slid the mirrored sunglasses off and perched them on his head, his swept back short silver hair glowing white in the sun.  
Peter Maximoff. Mystique looked up at the young man in his mid-twenties. No longer a teenager with a bad haircut and a silly grin, he stood tall and handsome with a look of bored disgust on his face.

"Wall Street looks good on you, Quicksilver..."  
He ignored the compliment although she had meant it. He had clearly just came out of the office. He wore an eye-wateringly expensive designer suit that was a little rumpled with rolled up shirt sleeves that revealed an even more expensive watch. The colour silver was still his trademark, dressed in various shades of charcoal grey to silver. She couldn't help but compare him to his father as he stood there with unshakeable confidence that was mixed with a healthy dose of hostility. She revealed her best seductive smile, trying to look innocent.


	2. Chapter 2

Mexico, 1984

The midday heat chased people to the bar. It was dark, surfaces were sticky and old faded movie posters covered damages that had been inflicted over the years. Old men sat, their faces rose and fell with creases so deep and dark they resembled the dry mountains that could be seen through the dirty windows. The town was small and time stood still here. Even the flies hovered around lazily.

A man entered the bar. Tall, he walked with his head down underneath a hat. Boots treaded the boards and he took a squeaky seat at the bar. The bar man in a white t-shirt looked up, sliding a young man a sweating bottle of coca-cola. "Hola."

"Tequila. Por Favor."

"No problema." The barman winked at one of his regulars playfully. "Anything for Clint Eastwood."

The newcomer looked up, squaring up his intimidating frame underneath a dark rough cotton shirt. "Whaddidya call me?" He narrowed his eyes, taking off his hat and taking a large cigar from his front pocket.

The barman retracted his joke and meekly muttered, "One tequila coming up." He poured the drink into a glass, setting it on the table. The visitor frowned at the glass.

"Leave the bottle, Bub." He puffed on the cigar, letting the smoke curl from his mouth. He listened to the chatter of the Spanish radio and watched the door, waiting for 'them' to finally find him. The people who had done this to him.

His hand moved to the bar's counter when he heard the threatening stomp of boots. He could feel the metal right below his skin, ready to cut through his knuckles. Ready to see blood and face bullets.

A woman came through the door, he relaxed. Already his pulse slowed. He watched as she swept back a thick mane of bouncy wild hair that was brown but the sun had lightened it to a dark ginger at the top. He stared unashamedly as she turned his way, her eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. She adjusted her tiny ripped red silk shirt that sat just above her high-waisted purple shorts. A pair of dusty red cowboy boots completed the look that should've been ridiculous.   
She bent over, a finger hovering over the old jukebox in the corner that was over a decade old. Logan rolled his eyes and concluded that a woman could wear anything and not look ridiculous—as long as it left nothing to the imagination.

He watched her as she hopped up onto the bar stool and spoke fluently to the barman, nodding her head to 'Smoke On The Water'. An eyebrow raised as the barman handed her a tequila. She looked across at Logan, raising her glass. "Cheers." She didn't wait a second before knocking it back. She reached into her back pocket for a lighter, patting herself before remembering that the cigarettes resided in her bra.

"What brings you out here? We don't see many Americans." She popped one in her dark lipsticked mouth, lightening up.

"Could say the same to you." He replied gruffly, looking at the cigarette. "Don't you know? Those things'll kill ya." He took another drink. "And I'm _Canadian._ "

"Like cigars don't give you mouth cancer..." She took another drink from a shot glass, matching him. "And nothing brings me out here. I've been drifting. Drifting for a long time now."

He watched how the sweat gleamed on her tanned skin. "You seem pretty young, kid. Where have you been?"

"Well. At eighteen I left for the West Coast from Washington. By nineteen I was back at New York, left for Europe. After six years of hitching rides and working in bars, I came here. I'm twenty-seven next month. But I'm thinking about heading to Brazil. What about you?"

"Heading South."

"A ride to the South? It must be fate! When are we leaving?"

Logan frowned as she stood up to get closer, stubbing her cigarette in a overflowing ashtray. "No w—" His hearing picked up two pairs of footsteps making their way from the parking lot into the bar. He stood up and barked if there was a back door. The barman shook his head.

The young woman swivelled around. Two men opened the door, they weren't dressed like tourists. The sound of metal heralded the claws escaping his knuckles. Wanda Maximoff took a sharp intake of breath when she saw them. She mouthed the word mutant.

"Get behind me kid." He watched her wide eyed as she stepped forward.

"Mutant brothers and sisters stand side-by-side." She lowered her chin, reaching out as something powerful and almost invisible radiated from her. She concentrated as the invisible sphere deflected whatever they shot. Grunting she turned her palms upward, pulling back. The men shouted as their eyes rolled back.

Logan watched as they slumped on the floor, writhing and frothing at the mouth. "What the hell did you do to them?"

Wanda ignored the Logan and the locals who were hiding under tables. The barman was shouting and swearing in Spanish. He was outraged that he had unknowingly slept with a mutant. "Those aren't bullets." She looked up with confusion. "They're tranquillisers?"

"Whatever it is, it ain't good." Logan put on his hat. "More will come. They always do. You might want to hitch another ride Red."

Wanda was at the bar, taking a bottle of tequila off the table. She rolled her eyes at the swearing barman. "Shut it José. I'm taking this as compensation for a mediocre night of drunken love making." She flicked down her sunglasses, a dirty cackle rumbling in the back of her throat. "Does your ride have air-con?"

"Nope."

"Then at least we'll welcome death with open arms." She grabbed a bag of belongings at the door with the tequila under one arm. The she held out a hand. "I'm Wanda."

"Logan." He ignored the handshake. There was no time. He took some gasoline out of the truck, ready to douse the engine and set his assailant's car alight.

Wanda opened the front door of the car out of curiosity. A folder lay there. "'Essex Corp'? Let's stay away from those guys. Need a light?"

"Get in the truck."

She made a mock salute and walked to the truck. As she threw her belongings into the rust bucket's back seat she laughed again. "It's very..." She found the radio, no doubt trying to find something by Guns and Roses, "Sturdy."

He grunted as AC/DC played. They pulled out of the lot, air whooshing in as he built up speed. Wanda leaned out of the truck curling her fingers into a gun shape, mumbling before a larger explosion sounded from behind. "Pew" She muttered. The car, once merely in flames was now a cloud of black opaque smoke. She watched her handiwork, unsmiling.

"Bulletproof and a pyromaniac." He watched the cloud grow in the rearview mirror. "What's next?"

"I don't know." She frowned at the open road, shaking her head. "I don't know."

**Author's Note:**

> Do what you have to do to get the other half of this story. If enough of you want it, I'll dole it out. Also, bounce over to fanfiction where a story called "The Tattooed Stranger" by DonJuan'73 awaits you. (A sort of prequel to this, spanning from Austria 1943 to the 1970's.)  
> Also, comment suggestions. I'm game for it.
> 
> Peace.


End file.
